


The Uptown Lowdown

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Flappers, eventual blood and violence and such I'll tag later, speakeasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 08:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15432909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: Celaena Sardothien is a singer at Arobynn Hamel's speakeasy, where her friend Lysandra also works. Rowan Whitethorn is a mysterious stranger who starts coming to her shows. At first he mostly seems annoying. Then Celaena realizes he knows much more about her past than he let on.Celaena tilted her head. “Don’t care, darling. You’ve been watching me all night, and I’d like to know why.”“Isn’t that what one does here? You are, after all, part of the entertainment.” The man finished his drink - the only one she’d seen him order all night - and set his glass down. He crossed his hands in front of his lap, utterly relaxed.“You know what I mean. Don’t play the fool with me, I’m young and so is the night, so let’s have it.”The man lifted his glass and a waiter came to take it away on a tray. “First, my name is Rowan Whitethorn. You can call me Rowan. What’s your name?”“Don’t you already know?”He nodded once. “I suppose I do. Celaena Sardothien. Prettiest songbird this side of the Mississippi, to hear it told.”





	The Uptown Lowdown

The smoke in The Blind Tiger was always a bother, but Celaena had become accustomed to it. As long as she had a glass of gin to soothe her throat, she didn’t mind it so much. As a singer she had to protect her voice, but this wasn’t supposed to be a long-term gig. Plus, the cigar smoke was convenient for avoiding the lecherous looks directed her way from just beyond the stage.

Singing at a speakeasy was supposed to be a stepping-stone. She had a real talent, had been told so by her mother and father before they passed. And Celaena’s music lessons as a child certainly helped put her on the path to being one of the best. 

But being a singer at Arobynn Hamel’s club wasn’t what Celaena Sardothien had planned for her life, and so finding a way out of that trap was only a matter of time. Well, time, and saving enough money to rent a room at one of those miserable homes for single girls. Actually, what she needed was time, money, and to work off her debt to Arobynn. 

The situation may have been complicated, but Celaena told herself it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. Then again, she’d been telling herself that since he found her on the streets at 8 years old. Now, at 21-going-on-40, Celaena heard that niggling voice of doubt in the back of her mind more frequently than she was comfortable with.

There were regretfully few choices for a girl in her situation in 1929. Without a family and seriously lacking in marriage prospects, Celaena was reliant on the good graces of her benefactor and guardian of her pristine reputation. It didn’t matter that he was a crook and a lowlife. He was a man, and she was a young woman, and so his word would always be taken as ten times worth her own. 

Celaena blinked through the smoke, finished her first set, and stepped offstage to take a break. The silver beading of her dress clicked and swished around her legs as she walked, and she blew an errant curl from her forehead. Damn the fashion for short, boyish hair; she was determined to keep hers long, even if it meant twisting and curling it up in ropes of pearls and beads every night.

Lysandra was backstage, in an alcove where she could still see the stage and the crowd. Her long white gown sparkled in the dim light, covered in crystals and beads, and it probably cost more than either of them made in a month. The fabric covered more skin than one would have expected, given Lysandra’s profession, but her charms didn’t come for free.

“Butt me?” Celaena asked. Lysandra handed her a cigarette without a word then held out her own cigarette on the end of an impossibly long holder so that she could light it. 

Celaena took a deep drag before speaking. “Shouldn’t you be out there plying your wares, Lys?” Celaena was far from the only working girl that Arobynn allowed to make a living in his space.

Lysandra shrugged, and her faux fur stole slipped down her shoulder. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ve got plans.” She pushed the curtain aside and glanced at the crowd. Another entertainer had taken the stage, some sort of juggling clown act. The crowd wasn’t having any of it and various liquids and detritus made its way onstage. Sam would have to clean that up before Celaena went back onstage.

“You seem to have a new admirer this evening,” Lysandra added.

Celaena frowned. “Is that supposed to be news, doll? You know how these men are.”

“Oh, I know,” Lysandra answered. “Trust me.” Her eyes narrowed. “But this one is a bit different. He’s only had one drink. And he looks, you know. Not quite as sloppy as the rest of them.” Lysandra tilted her head, still watching the crowd. “I think he’s got an agenda.”

“Find me one who doesn’t, darling, and I’ll find you a pig who can fly.” Celaena sighed and stepped forward, looking in the direction of Lysandra’s gaze. 

Off to the side, near the stage but hugging the shadows, a man with shocking white hair was seated alone. He thrummed his fingers on the table, ignoring the noise from the performer and the other patrons. There were tattoos snaking up his neck all the way to his temple, and Celaena shuddered. 

“That one?” she asked. But she already knew. She’d felt his gaze earlier. It was distinct from the others, not nearly so haphazard and fleeting, not quite so quick to undress her with his eyes. 

“Yes. I wonder what he wants.” Lysandra adjusted her stole, pulled out a tube of crimson lipstick. 

“I don’t know,” Celaena said, “Maybe you could go distract him for me. He might have confused our roles, Lys.” It wouldn’t have been the first time that a man at The Blind Tiger had assumed Celaena was for sale, given that she sang for them all. For some reason, offering them one service meant that they felt entitled to all of them. But that’s what Sam and Wesley were for.

“Very funny, dearest.” Lysandra applied her lipstick without looking, and Celaena grinned to see it was done perfectly. “I can go out there and distract him for you, if you’d like.” 

“No,” Celaena said, a bit too quickly. “No, thanks. I think I’ll see what happens. Maybe he’ll leave.” She was rather bored, and hoped he might provide her with some entertainment for the night, even if it was only the challenge of picking his pocket. 

Lysandra pinched her own cheeks, bringing some pink into them, and adjusted the neckline of her dress to show her wares off to even better advantage. “Just let me know, Celaena. Us girls gotta stick together, right?”

Celaena nodded, and ground her cigarette on the cement floor with the toe of her shoe. “Sure thing. Now get yourself out of here and go make some money.” 

Lysandra blew Celaena a kiss as she left, her heels clicking down the steps that led to the crowd of tables between the stage and the bar, and Celaena chuckled. 

Turning back to the crowd, she pulled the curtains back to watch the man with white hair. He hadn’t moved from his table, and kept waving away the waiter when he tried to refill his drinks. Celaena was certain she had never seen the man there before. There was an empty space around him, as if the other patrons had made some tacit agreement that he seemed to be more trouble than he was worth. That someone no one knew could carry around his reputation in his bearing was a real sight indeed, considering the types who came to this joint. 

Hands came from behind Celaena, resting on her shoulders, at the same time that she felt a warm breath on her neck. “You’ve put on quite a show tonight, doll face.”

Celaena jumped and turned, smacking Sam’s arm. “Don’t do that. You know better.”

Sam put his hands in his pockets, feigning innocence. “I’m not worried.”

“You should be,” Celaena answered. “I could have decided to turn you into a mark and left you with little besides your balls and your life. But I might have taken your balls, too.”

“Arobynn wouldn’t like that. Who else would hang around this place to protect his girls?”

“I’m not his girl,” she snapped. “And you don’t need your balls to keep order around here. In fact, I think in a fight they might be a handicap.” She glanced down and smiled. 

Sam crossed his hands in front of his crotch. “Low blow, Celaena, even for you.”

“Don’t you have a job to do, anyway?” Celaena reached up and tousled Sam’s dark brown curls. 

Sam smiled. “I’ll go clean up the stage. Meet me later?”

“Not tonight, Sam.” He frowned. “I’m just tired,” she added, “I think I might need some extra beauty sleep.”

Sam reached into a nearby closet, grabbing a broom and dustpan. “Tomorrow, then. Knock ‘em dead, Celaena.”

“I always do.”

Sam trotted off to the stage, the customers yelling lewd comments at him. Sam certainly was beautiful, though he wasn’t the kind of entertainment they were there to see. 

Celaena sighed. She’d known Sam forever, and lately he had begun to take liberties with her. Who knew what Arobynn would think if he’d caught them like that, Sam’s arms around her, his lips so close to her skin. 

It was a delicate balance, trying to convince Arobynn that she belonged to no one, when every day men were making various claims on her time and attention. And why did it matter what he thought, anyway? It wasn’t as if he were going to make her an honest woman any time soon. He just didn’t like the idea of her being with anyone else, even if he didn’t want her himself. Though lately, he had made comments… Celaena shook her head, clearing it.

Celaena allowed herself a moment to frown, feeling the furrow in her brow, clenching her teeth, digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand, before she walked back onstage. She started her rendition of “Me and My Gin”, keeping the white-haired man in the corner of her vision.

This speakeasy, The Blind Tiger, was crowded, but nothing if not elegant. Arobynn would never let his protégée perform in some of his other establishments, where the clientele was prone to breaking more than just the liquor laws. And Lysandra was not the sort of woman that any of those men could buy, anyway. 

So the way that this man watched her, sizing her up as if her were trying to determine her worth in gold, it set Celaena’s teeth on edge. She could take care of herself, and frequently did, but it wouldn’t do for her to make a show of herself in that way when she was playing the role of demure ingénue at the club. Celaena considered setting Sam on the man, but stopped herself from looking over and giving him the signal. 

It had been a while since Celaena had had any fun to herself. And even though she had feigned fatigue with Sam, she wanted to see where this man and this night might take her. 

Celaena finished her second set to raucous applause, bowing graciously. A man yelled from the crowd for her to bend over further, and she gave Sam the signal. Two birds, one stone. With Sam gone, he wouldn’t see what she was about to do.

Instead of taking her usual path backstage to grab her fur and leave, Celaena took the steps leading into the crowd. As she made her way to the table where the white-haired man sat, a hand reached out from the dark to grasp underneath the hem of Celaena’s dress. “How’s it goin’, biscuit?” the man slurred. With a twirl that set the beaded trim of her skirt flying, she sidestepped him and kept walking. 

When Celaena reached the blond’s table, she placed a palm on its surface and leaned in front of him. “What’s up, Johnny?”

“Name’s not Johnny.”

Celaena tilted her head. “Don’t care, darling. You’ve been watching me all night, and I’d like to know why.”

“Isn’t that what one does here? You are, after all, part of the entertainment.” The man finished his drink - the only one she’d seen him order all night - and set his glass down. He crossed his hands in front of his lap, utterly relaxed.

“You know what I mean. Don’t play the fool with me, I’m young and so is the night, so let’s have it.”

The man lifted his glass and a waiter came to take it away on a tray. “First, my name is Rowan Whitethorn. You can call me Rowan. What’s your name?”

“Don’t you already know?”

He nodded once. “I suppose I do. Celaena Sardothien. Prettiest songbird this side of the Mississippi, to hear it told.”

Celaena sat in the empty seat across from Rowan. “So you know your club singers. Or at least the important ones.” She grinned. Catching the eye of a waiter, she signaled him over.

“French 75, sweetheart. And can you make it one of those lovely bottles, and bring us a couple of glasses? The gentleman here and I will share. Put it on his tab.” Celaena turned back to Rowan and smiled sweetly. “Taking in the sights of our fair city, then?”

“In a manner of speaking. How do you know I’m not from around here?”

“If you were, you’d know not to play with Arobynn Hamel’s things.” Celaena’s expression darkened. “But since you’ve taken notice of me, I’m assuming that you don’t know who he is, or what he’ll do to you if you get me dirty.”

Rowan’s features softened, as much as they could given their sharp lines and angles. “I have to say, dollface, that anyone who claims to own a lady in the manner you suggest, isn’t a gentleman in any sense of the word.”

Celaena sat back in her chair. “Well, you’d know nothing about it. So, are you going to tell me what attracted you to this establishment?”

Rowan shrugged. The waiter returned with their bottle of liquor and two cut crystal glasses. Rowan took the stopper off the bottle and poured them both drinks, using tongs to provide them each with a piece of lemon rind.

They lifted their drinks without saying a word, and sipped. 

“So, my question,” Celaena said. “How did you find this place?”

“My employer has connections,” he said. “That’s all I’ll say until you answer a question for me.”

“Shoot.” Celaena doubted he’d have anything interesting or even vaguely insightful to ask her. Perhaps the price of her friend Lysandra, who was playing the coquette at a nearby table. Or perhaps he would ask the next night she was supposed to sing, like a lovestruck little boy.

“So,” Rowan said, “What kind of watch was that man wearing?”

“Which one?” Celaena sounded bored. She knew precisely what he was referring to, but it wouldn’t do to let him know that.

“The one who tried to grab you. He was wearing a watch. Then you walked by, and he wasn’t.”

Celaena refused to let surprise cross her face. Few people ever caught her at work. “Oh it was something cheap, I think. It won’t keep me in drink for the week.” She pulled it from her small velvet purse, looking at it in the light. “Hardly worth the trouble. But I think he deserved it. Don’t you?” She leveled her gaze at Rowan.

“Certainly did. Just for underestimating you, if nothing else.” Rowan raised his glass to her again and took a sip. 

“Are you going to tell me who your employer is, then?” Aelin finished her glass, and waited for Rowan to pour her another. She felt the corner of her mouth lift in a slight smile when he did so, without being asked to.

“No.”

“No? I thought we had a deal,” Celaena said.

“We surely did. But I didn’t say when I would answer the question. Only that I would.”

Celaena let a sigh of annoyance out through her nose. Perhaps she’d underestimated him. 

Rowan stood and Celaena started, then followed suit. “You’re leaving?”

“Going to pay my tab, then yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

Celaena scowled.

“You can take the rest of that bottle to share with your friend. She looks like she’s struck out tonight.”

Celaena looked over at Lysandra’s table. Two of the three men who had been with her were gone, and the third had a glazed look in his eye that meant he would be nowhere near capable of enjoying what she had to offer that night.

Celaena turned to look back at Rowan and say something scathing and rude, but he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will get smutty and violent and such, but it might take a while to get there. The title is based on the Mildred Bailey song Doin' the Uptown Lowdown.


End file.
